bout de papier, Vol. 11, No. 1 (1994) — Spring 1994 // Printemps 1994, p. 7
Protocol. Precedent. Panic.
Whatever the reason, one of the de rigueur preliminaries to a diplomatic posting used to be “the letters.” These were the epistle to the wife of the Head of Mission and the list of questions that were directed at one’s predecessor. Both were written in hope. The former in hope that it elicited a short warm response. The latter in hope that it would unravel some of the mystery surrounding the years ahead.
It was expected that the outward-bound wife would introduce herself via a graceful handwritten note to the wife of the Head of Mission, expressing eagerness to become a member of the mission, pleasure at serving under her and her husband, and indicating, by an appropriate turn of phrase, her suitability for the role of diplomatic wife. It was also the custom to include in this letter an advance offer of assistance. This offer was two-pronged. One was an inquiry as to whether there were any small items for which the wife of the Head of Mission had been pining. Of course, if there were, it was a moral and social obligation to find them and hand carry them to post, so that she need pine no longer.
The second line of helpful Harrietness was to offer to arrange for, or ship along with one’s personal goods, items for the Canadian stall at any of the yearly bazaars. There do not seem to be as many of these international fêtes as there once were, but at one time they were the scourge of diplomatic life. One could be sure that over the year there would be several of these affairs to organize. The offer to bring out the necessary cases of Canadian salmon and maple syrup would be sure to ingratiate instantly a new arrival into the good graces of the senior wives. It proved one knew how to do one’s share, hold up one’s end, wave the flag, carry one’s weight, and not let the side down. Try to do those all at once and not sweat while doing it!
Procuring these items could often be a protracted and thankless task. There is a myth that any company, retail store or craft outlet should jump at the chance to donate items to these affairs. If not as an outright gift for the glory of being associated with the diplomatic life, then at least to ask only cost price. Ottawa is not a large city. number of outlets that can be tapped by the missions abroad is limited. The successful search for a flattered first time donor requires ingenuity, tenacity and connections.
Details of individual international fairs blur in memory (thank you) but on one occasion it had been decided that Canadian (well, North American, at least) cosmetics would be hot ticket items at one such tropical event. It may have been a decision based on connections rather than common sense as it turned out. Anyway, boxes of lipstick and powder, moisturizer and nail polish arrived. Such beautiful shades. Pearly Pink, Blushing Coral, Misty Mauve, Barely Beige. On the day of the bazaar it finally dawned on the Canadian contingent that lipstick melts in 45 degree Celsius temperatures and pink blush does not complement an olive complexion. Ingenuity to the rescue. Put the lipstick in ice buckets and flog the powder to colour compatible embassies.
On another occasion, only three out of ten cases of salmon destined for the bazaar cleared customs. Three days before the bazaar, tins of Pacific salmon appeared at a local market stall frequented by diplomatic shoppers. Another little tradition reared its head about that time; members of the mission were expected to purchase unsold items, especially junior members. This was probably so that the senior wives would not have to acknowledge that “their” items had not sold well. As a result, salmon quiche and salmon tarts and salmon sandwiches and salmon mousse were staples at Embassy events for months.
The other dreaded curse that lurked around the edges of an international bazaar was the request for a “cultural event.” The sight of three stout wives in dirndl skirts and peasant blouses clogging away at centre stage can send tremors down the spine of the staunchest patriot. You see, when the Brits decide to render a Scottish fling, there is nothing left for the Canadians but the Ottawa Valley clog.
Easier to write but equally fraught with danger is the letter to one’s predecessor. To ask a stranger to advise on market deficiencies, the quality of hairdressers, the availability of children’s books and the suitability of domestic staff is as reliable as consulting a Ouija board.
Personal priorities and preferences are barely understood in a long-term relationship let alone between strangers.
Bring dry soup mixes. Spritzer bottles are a must, bring lots of carbon dioxide bombs. There are no shoes to be bought here. You will need all your children’s underwear for three years. Bring toilet paper. Bring Pampers. Bring Christmas cards. Bring, bring, bring. Buy. Buy. Buy. The Visa and Mastercard companies rub their hands in delight.
Never mind. Three years later you can ship it all back home again. In some dark corner of the basement there still lie six dozen soda bombs from a Delhi posting a quarter of a century ago.
Oh, yes. Always pack a winter coat for those winter visits to Canada.
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Originally published in bout de papier, Vol. 11, No. 1 (1994) — Spring 1994 // Printemps 1994, p. 7. Read the rest of this issue →
